


The Warmth of Blood

by wickedrum



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Emetophilia, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Whump, M/M, Redemption, Sickfic, the main point is whump if that wasn't clear before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9053464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: Locked in what both thought to be their final battle on Culloden Moor, Jamie and Jack could never be anything else than enemies. Unless..?





	1. Fine and Red

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: This is for the sake of further protest against having had my favourite character killed off by Diana Gabaldon.  
> When I am writing, it's mainly for my own pleasure. It's what I'd like to see happen so when I reread in a few months, oftentimes years later, thus I find a story that is completely to my taste. It has happened before ;) It's what Stephen King says too, write for yourself, not a changing audience. 
> 
> Genre: G, redemption, sickfic.  
> Rating/Warning: some adult themes, nothing major.  
> Set: Starts during Culloden, AU from that moment. It fits bookverse more.  
> Main Characters: Jack Randall and Claire Fraser  
> Pairing: eventual Jack/Jamie

It was exactly how Claire had told him it would be, essentially a bath in blood. Cumberland's first-rate artillery unit decimated Jacobite numbers already at the start and by the time they could close into a man to man combat, the cause was essentially lost. One moment Jamie was standing in the middle of a tartan army with muskets over their shoulders and basket-hilted broadswords by their left sides, the next a sea of red-a swarm of redcoats thick as lice on the ground. The great disproportion was of course impossible to overmaster. The desire to revenge the next fallen victim and the next was still there-rage glowed on every Highlander's face and gleamed in every eye, but they all knew it was now only for honour and going out fighting. 

The fog was slowly rising, but it was hard to take much notice of it for the abundant smoke of musketry, canon fire and grape-shot. The Highlanders flung themselves on colour more than a person amongst the line of the enemy, barely knowing if they managed a hit if not for the clash of metal as opposed to something soft. Jamie heard shouts and battle- and pained cries, yet had no idea who was still with him, alive. For himself, Jamie didn't care. He was to die there, it was his destiny. What's more, he had meant to die, a tentative bargain he had made with any god willing to listen. His life for Claire and the child's, and hopefully his men's too. 

Thus he had found it quite unsettling when the corporal he had been parrying with for the last few minutes had suddenly came to a suspended animation freeze and then fell to the side like a crumpled wall. For a moment, Jamie assumed it must've been random stray fire-many a soldiers were always falling prey to bullets of their own army. But the gash at the side of the soldier's head told a different story, and Jack Randall stood towering over the body. “You are mine,” the older man left no questions regarding his intentions.

“We shall see about that, won't we?” Jamie grunted his displeasure at the display of such moral wrong-Jack intentionally killed a fellow comrade just so he could have the young Scot he shared a long history with only for himself. The Highlander's next blow conveyed the sentiment, along with his ever prevailing wish to end the existence of the Englishman who had caused him most anguish throughout his life. The horrors of what the battle would mean for his country shoved aside, he lunged himself into the encounter with newly found gusto. 

The boggy ground was a problem, it had been a problem throughout the whole military action, but Jamie was confident in his own abilities being superior to that of his challenger's. He had clearly outdone him at least that once before, when he had managed to strike him in the privates, and with the distracting cries of the arriving Claire no less. Aiming precisely w\as harder this time, with no doubt both being fatigued by previous one to one combat and the treacherousness of the terrain, and having to avoid bodies piling at their feet. So instead of tricky manoeuvres, it came down mainly to clashing swords together and relying on force, on who could push who or thrust aside. 

“Prospect of death and the pleasures of the carnal,” Jack shouted maniacally with swords crossed and faces inches from one another, “were always so close with us, almost the same!”

“Not for me,” Jamie denied on instinct and pushed him away. There was a time when the desire in him to kill the man was higher than allowing himself to be able to enjoy bedding his own wife, but he needn't to know that. “Still, I will kill ye all the same.”

Jack stepped one back, avoiding his sword for the time being to allow for more words to be exchanged. “It will be cathartic, admit it, nothing short of animalistic satisfaction!” He challenged, roaring over the symphony of distant guns and closer clink of metal.

“Aye!” Jamie did not hesitate to use his opponent's distraction in attempt to self validation and swiped low, in a similar fashion to how he had injured the other previously. Jack blocked, but not fast enough. Buttons and bits of fabric flew off his fine captain's coat, he staggered back and his breath left him as he hunched to make himself smaller, protect the injury. 

Jamie didn't give him reprieve. He attacked, left and right and down and forward and above the man's head and would not stop, this was his chance, not till Jack could fight no more. The Englishman was doing nothing but deflect and defend at this point, vaguely and perhaps luckily, aided by the slight slope his feet were sliding down on backwards in the mud, not giving Jamie the ability to predict precision of moves. The Scot felt water rise up cold above his boots, almost bathing his knees and he had to catch himself not to fall forward in one of the naturally occurring boggy trenches on the plain and as luck would have it, it looked like Jack managed to avoid that particular dip.

It allowed the older man to put some distance between them, he would not attack, not with the front of his coat so dark with blood it almost looked black, he needed the respite. Jack held his sword pointingly in front of him. It would have not been hard to push aside, it was only there as a sign of his intent, to show the other he resorted to talking again, “look around! None of your kin around! You're surrounded by the English!” He waved his sword in a vague and circular manner. 

“An' that should stop me from killing ye how!” Jamie tried to detach his boots from the sticky mud. 

“Don't shoot!” Jack moved his cutlass turned pointing device to the side this time, leaving himself open to a momentarily confused Jamie before the additional movement made him lose his already precarious balance and effectually land clumsily, bottom first on the ground. 

“Are you injured, Captain?” An ensign lowered his musket somewhat, minding the order, but being ready for anything. Foot soldiers behind him followed suit.

“This man is right hand to the Prince Pretender. He is to be treated accordingly and not be harmed till the General himself can decide what to do with him,” Jack outright dropped the sword now, his hands instinctually going to cradle his front. 

“Ma'm it's not safe, fighting is still going on in some parts, you shouldn't be looking for your men yet,” a tall and scraggly redcoat grabbed a woman stumbling forward towards them in great haste. 

“May we transport you to the surgeon's tent, Captain?” The ensign knelt in front of the officer ranking above him, regarding the man from a different regiment with concern.

It was all happening at the same time with dizzying pace, like the whole battle had been. It was like a hit to the head and Jamie was quite sure it wasn't exhaustion that made his head spin. Losing control over the situation felt like losing his grip on reality. Because it wasn't just that he missed his chance to finish the personification of his worst nightmare, but he was now outnumbered and worst of all, what was Claire doing here! His eyes and his grunt signified his anger at her foremost. The bullheaded woman was betraying him and their love by not keeping herself and the babe safe!

“I will be better cared for in this woman's hands,” Jack declared, allowing himself the weakness to lie on the ground. Not as if he had a choice. “She's more skilled in the art of healing than anyone I know.”

Outwardly without hesitation, quick thinking Claire rid herself of the soldier's half-hearted grip and not giving Jamie more than a glance, lowered herself next to the ensign as well. “We need to staunch the bleeding foremost,” she took her scarf and folded it over to press on the large bloodstain on Jack's front. 

“You want me to leave you in this woman's care?” The junior officer wanted to make sure he'd heard the strange request right. 

“You're making an injured man repeat himself,” Jack grumbled, “take the prisoner and send a stretcher, ensign! She will be accompanying me back to care for the wounded,” he claimed with as much confidence as the searing, numbing pain allowed. 

Jamie exchanged a fleeting and furtive, mazed look with Claire, but would not risk giving her away. She had put herself in way too much danger already. If Jack was going to use her as a nurse, that was better than her immediately being associated with Red Jamie, it gave her a chance. He let himself being dragged away, with a lot less hassle than he would've otherwise made of it, bewildered by his good luck. 

“Do not let me regret this,” Jack whispered just for Claire's ears only, though it was fairly unlikely for anyone else to hear. The rest of the redcoats were following his orders and withdrawing and there was still the sound of guns occasionally from the direction of down the road leading towards Inverness. 

“I should let you die,” Claire loosened her grip on the makeshift compress now that she wasn't scrutinised by English soldiers, “you need to tell me why I shouldn't slide your sword into your heart myself.”

“Because you're curious why I've spared your beloved to start with,” Jack was ready for the negotiation. 

“You're hoping to make him your toy once again,” came the swift, seething response, “that's not a hard question.”

“A chance to toy with him, a chance for you to save him, is it not.”

“Let me look,” Claire cast her reservations aside, having been thinking and adjusting to the situation just as swiftly as he had been, “you do not seem to be at death's door at any case, and what use you are to me if you are,” she raised the material she had previously placed atop of him and pulled his ruined garments aside promptly, not caring about being gentle one bit, “I don't think this is deep, no vital organs have been compromised, but with a wound this long, it will take a while to heal and you will be at high risk for infection,” she summarised de facto.

Jack nodded, not surprised, “which is why I wouldn't trust those butchers who call themselves field soldiers. Amputate they can, but most die in wound fever anyway.”

“You should really not lose any more blood, or that will become an issue too. Can you sit up? You're lucky I brought this for Jamie,” she pulled a roll of linen out from her bosom, “I will pull this as tightly as possible round you, keep the ends of the wound together till we can get somewhere where I can clean and saw it. Well?” She urged him, wanting to be on her way, closer to where Jamie was being taken.

“Sitting up,” he grunted, “ugh,” he finished uncertainly, moving a hand towards his front to keep it steady as he planned to manoeuvre himself upright.

“Don't you dare put your grubby hands anywhere near an open wound!” She slapped his hand away.

“So how do you suggest I get up, Madam!”

“Oh for heaven's sakes,” she reached under him and pulled him up none so patiently. They were way too much more closer physically than she cared to have it. Eager to have it done with and balancing him with one hand, she started to wind the clean cloth round him expertly and pulled. “I'd suggest we don't wait till your stretcher arrived, it might never be. “I'm going to drag you up to stand and you're going to walk, on your own, understand! And I would appreciate it if you didn't put your head on my shoulder!” She pushed him away, only to realise he had in the meantime passed out and plopped backwards head first onto the ground without her support. 

Tbc


	2. Compliments of the Chef

Chapter 2: Compliments

Judging from the shouts and groans of injured soldiers nearby and the stench of blood, the burnt flesh and turpentine invading his nostrils, Jack had to resign himself to the fact that he had been taken to where he did not want to go-the surgical tents. It was an unfortunate development, not just because he didn't trust the personnel, but also because the smell was unpleasant enough to turn his stomach. Rolling to the side of what he assumed was a stretcher, he rid himself of the contents of the offending organ, an act that hurt his bandaged front enough to send him into a dizzy spell and further retching he desperately tried to hold back. However, deep breathing also hurt, and holding his belly or swallowing the spit down as well, all to varying degrees that left him wheezy and disoriented. It took him some time and distinct willpower to open his eyes, though he wasn't even sure why he'd bothered. 

“It's completely normal, in fact expected to be sick after shock and blood loss,” Claire took the place of an older woman who had just cleaned up his mess. 

“You're here,” Jack blurted out his surprise without his usual, conscious care and restraint in regards to the words he uttered. 

“I was ordered to help out when they heard I had experience,” Claire explained, “but the English have been exceedingly lucky in general. It's not here I should be helping out,” she whispered consiprationally, leaning closer, “I've taken out a few bullets and bandaged some limbs, but there's not all that much to do that your surgeons can't take care of themselves.”

“You don't want to be camping out with the Scots, Claire. I know for a fact that Cumberland's given orders of no mercy. Like it or not, every participant found alive on that field tonight will be shot,” he informed her. 

“I should thank you then, right, is that what you want!” Claire turned on him, seething.

“Eyho, no need for that,” he grunted. “Yes, you should thank me.”

Claire swallowed at that, and settled somewhat. She knew he was right, but there was too much red in the ledger from before for her to be able to think anything favourable of him. “Do you know what they are likely to do with Jamie?”

“In the chaos that follows a battle?” He countered uncertainly.

“You need to find out, immediately,” she ordered, eyes steely and stern.

Jack looked down to his front and winced slightly with the movement, “a slight predicament, shall we say?”

Claire shook her head, “I cleansed and sewed your wound while you were out. And that is the cleanest and tightest bandage your entire army would have available. Sure, the position and fashion of the injury will make every movement hurt, but you will live and my stitches hold. So get up and make yourself useful.

“And why would I pray tell, jump at your orders, Madam?” He oozed sarcasm and conversely, some amusement in his raised eyebrows. 

“There is no time for pretences, Jack. Like it or not to have exhibited it so openly, you have shown a clear preference. You did not want Jamie dead, and you have done everything in your power to make it stick. Would you let your efforts go to waste?”

“Woman, you are the most annoying creature to have ever walked the earth.”

“So you acknowledge the truth to my words.”

“What makes you think I would do anyone favours? You can't earnestly suggest any of your initial naivety regarding my morality has left any remains? You forget what I've done to him.”

“Never. The favour is to yourself. As long as Jamie is alive, there's still a chance he may one day be yours again.”

“He was mine?” Jack jumped at the acknowledgement.

“In your interpretation, I conjecture. Isn't that what counts for you at any case? Which is why you don't want to give up having that a second time. You enjoyed it too much for that, consequences be damned. Any time you spend with him, regardless of its nature, is what you live for. It gives fire to your dreams and fantasies even if you can't touch him, feel him, coerce him to do as you wish. Tell me you don't want to continue to experience that,” Claire taunted.

“Straight to the point, always with you, Madam.”

“Anything less would insult our understanding of each other.”

Once again, he seemed amused by having found a worthy adversary in her. “And how do you suggest I proceed? Demand answers from my superiors?”

It was her turn to give him a mocking smile, “do you suggest you don't have your ways to outmanoeuvre a superior? I've seen you do it remember. And all I'm asking if for you to get out there and mill around, there has to be someone you can at least vaguely hail-fellow-well-met, insufferable as you are?”

“That I've always admired about you Claire Fraser, that you're not afraid to make deals with the devil.”

“A deal?” The Englishwoman turned Scottish quickly picked up on the hint, “what deal would you want, I've done what you've asked and cared for you.”

“Is your husband's life worth so little to you?”

“Just say what you want already Jack.”

“If I'm to put my neck out in front of superiors and attempt to save his life, I at least want to know that I will get what I would be keeping him alive for.”

Claire paled and seethed at the same time, “you know that is not an option.”

“Is it not? It was for him, to save you, get you to be gone from my clutches at Wentworth.”

“That was his choice and I curse him for it enough. He would rather die, or most likely kill you than let himself being subjugated by you, if only for a moment.”

“Oh, he already took care of that in France. I would be surprised if he doesn't pride himself in the injury he'd caused,” Jack probed.

“It's the next best thing he could've done to killing you,” Claire couldn't resist the dig herself.

“Well, then, you are aware of what isn't possible. And I have no delusions of him submitting of his own fee will, I would not appreciate him as the man he is without that. Which is why you are giving me a promise, of your help in the matter.”

“You are insane. Me and Jamie both, we would rather choose to die,” she leered.

“Hm. But the question isn't that, is it, it's whether you'd let Jamie die.”

Fed up with the exchange, Claire leaned over him, close up, “you will do everything you can to save him because you want to. Face it.”

“I'd probably hurry with that promise, most prisoners get executed within a day of their capture.”

“You're not getting it.”

Jack tilted his head a little in an evaluating manner, “how about you just make sure he appreciates what's being done for him.”

The proposition being vague enough, she took hold of one of his arms and pulled. “Alright, fine, just get up already.”

Tbc


	3. Purchase Price

Chapter 3: Purchase Price

“Madam Beauchamp,” Jack kept to Claire's previous name for the sake of not giving her affiliation away, “you remember Brigadier General Sir Oliver Lord Thomas.”

The bold resonance of Jack's irritated voice and his use of her old name startled Claire away from inspecting the official army surgeon's cleansing solution and she almost dropped the decanter before setting it back onto the table. Of course the botheration of his injury and having to do her bidding was now inflated by having to deal with a superior who he had always thought of as an utter arse. She had sent him out to find a familiar face to press for information and he could not have been happy to stumble upon the Brigadier General out of all people for that, something that amused Claire for the most fleeting moment she could spare on the sentiment. “I would vouch for her medical experience, my Lord, she will take care of that arm for you,” Jack continued. 

“I do not care what you vouch for, captain,” Lord Thomas reciprocated with similar annoyance they shared in the presence of each other, “though the surprise isn't unpleasant,” the officer produced one of his courteous smiles for Englishwoman, “I certainly hope you have made it home and haven't been stranded on this blasted turf all this time!”

“Oh no, Lord Thomas, of course not. Have you been injured?” With a nod, she gestured towards the arm he supported with his other. “You do look a little pale.”

“A trifle Madam,” the high ranking officer tried to sound confident, though some of his past cockiness was clearly missing, “it could have been a lot worse if it wasn't only my horse that was shot from under me. I'm afraid I've landed on my elbow. I've heard it crack but I don't trust just any ordinary surgeon to set it.” Jack gave a roll of the eyes at those claims behind him.

“Let me take a look,” Claire offered, “you can't wait with it too long for it might heal wrong and can restrict the use of your arm. Sit,” she gestured towards a half empty table.

“I've been told that,” the commanding officer agreed, “what is it that your medical experience entails again?” He questioned warily, but sat at any case, perhaps to give her access, perhaps just to rest. 

“You remember my Lord, how she's sawed a limb off for one of our men downstairs as you finished your dinner upstairs, back at Brockton,” Jack provided at the ready when seeing Claire's hesitation. He seemed a lot more inclined to be polite with the higher ranking officer than last time. 

“Of course I know that,” the nobleman gestured with his head since he could not use his hands, “but before, and indeed, after.” 

“Madam Beauchamp,” Jack continued lying without a blink, knowing that she didn't have a dependable story to tell, “travelled around with her teacher husband till he passed, helping wherever was needed. I have met her myself in France, doing exactly the same, after she had been returned to her family.” 

“Oh Madam, you put us all to shame with your compassion,” Lord Thomas nodded at her, “you must share some more of those fascinating stories, like what you're doing here and how you got here into the middle of a battleground out of all places!” 

“Sir, Nurse Beauchamp came to accompany my fiance, who's also her friend, and thus made it possible for us to get married ahead of the battle,” Jack had another reply at the ready.

“Eh!” His superior grunted, clearly not happy with him providing all the answers. He remained friendly towards Claire however, “what a small world, hm? As I recall, you and the captain have not exchanged the most affable words at first when you've been introduced and here you are, helping the man get wed! You must regale me, what on earth had happened! You will recall, I am quite fond of tales.”

“I shall tell you all once you've been taken care of,” Claire reached behind him to gently help him out of his coat and pulled the sleeve of his shirt up extra carefully, minding that this was not a toughened Scotsman, nor the rugged Englishman beside her who had cheated death multiple times, but a nobleman accustomed to luxury for the most part, one Jack doubted could even stay in the saddle for very long and the one she had to rely on once more. Claire scrutinised the swollen limb from all angles, “can you move your fingers?” She probed his lower arm and his shoulder lightly.

“Yes, quite well,” Lord Thomas sounded surprised a bit when trying.

“I have good news for you,” Claire smiled at him, “I believe your arm does not need set at all. It is broken, sure, but there don't seem to be any abnormalities apart from the swelling and bruising, which is normal. Let me make a sling for you,” she looked around for some more bandages. “Try not to move it for a couple of weeks and it should be good as new.”

“So you recommend refraining from riding for long distances then?” 

“It is nothing some good Scottish whiskey can't facilitate,” Claire held. After all Jamie would ride immediately after far worse injuries. 

Jack cut her off, “Lord Thomas was given an assignment to accompany some major players from amongst the prisoners down to London,” he said pointedly, looking at her straight. 

Claire tried to swallow her anxiety, “..but perhaps a couple of days' rest is best,” she adjusted her recommendation accordingly.

Now that his injured hand was supported, the high ranking officer could wave the other in the air, “yes, well, there's no reason why I should not designate someone else to deal with the issue, I can catch up later. I know. What if I send the good Captain Randall ahead,” he announced.

“I would be honoured, Sir,” Jack declared seamlessly.

“Yes, the captain's injuries are more manageable to be dealt with on horseback,” Claire lied. If anyone had to rest, it was him and both her and Jack knew it, but what had to be, had to be. 

“Ah, I forget you're injured as well,” Lord Thomas' eyes lingered on Jack's hand as it was pressed to his midsection.

“It's of no consequence, My Lord. The damage is mostly to my uniform,” Jack deflected.

“In that case, go to Leftenant Hughes, he will commission you with a new outfit to get you sufficiently presentable. Tell Captain Yates I want him to accompany you with his men. You will be riding slower with prisoners. You shall wait for me by Birmingham.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Jack made an attempt to raise himself from the table he was leaning on himself. To his luck, Lord Thomas was too busy with scrutinising his own arm to notice the difficulties the other officer was having.

“If I may, Lord Thomas,” Claire jumped instead and as if cordially, she linked arms with the captain, keeping him steady, “I would like to travel with the leaving company as well. Another escort down to England would be beneficial, and I hope to get to spend some time with my good friend, the now Mrs. Randall as well, who happens to be travelling down back to the family estate also.”

“Oh you suggest for Mrs. Randall to join the party as well?” The aristocrat raised his eyebrows at first, but then reassessed his reaction, “well of course, we cannot let two ladies go without proper military protection. You are free to proceed and I hope to see you again. Perhaps a better, social occasion this time, down in England? I could send some invitations if you'd leave a forwarding address with the captain and his family?”

“I would like nothing better,” Claire promised, “and to taste some more of your claret if you'd allow,” she reciprocated the pleasantries. 

“We should report to Cumberland's aide with the new developments,” Jack groaned, leaning heavily on her supporting arm. He had to get out of there and quick, before the darkness that crept around him did not cover up his eyes completely. 

“Try that Scottish whiskey if you haven't yet, My Lord,” the nurse imparted her advice while steering Jack towards the entrance of the tent, worried the plan will fall through if he passed out right there and the severity of his injury was revealed, “you will find it surprisingly drinkable. Think about it as medicine.”

“Do you...have...any?” Jack inquired, revealing a need for similar relief, just steps away from the tent, leaning forward, with drops of sweat dripping off his forehead. 

“You need to sit,” Claire panicked, pulling him behind another tent where he landed on his knees, head pulling him forward as if it would've been some weight he couldn't bear. “Jack?” The brunette had to realise she would have to roll him to his side and lie him down for a bit if she wanted him to be able to report anywhere any time soon. Maybe half an hour rest would not be noticed.

Tbc


	4. Brooding and Hot

Chapter 4: Brewing and Hot

“I fear for John,” Mary looked up at Claire when she noticed the nurse's horse pulling up beside her, “he's been throwing up at every stop we make and I suspect that he refuses my help because there isn't much I can do. This is a curious and unpleasant situation we ended up in,” she glanced around quickly to make sure no one was in earshot, “you can count on me keeping your secret, I wanted to say that before, I just never had the chance. I'd only like to know more, what the plan is. I assume you are planning to help your husband escape, but I truly hope it's soon, Johnny cannot ride much longer,” she shared her worries.

Claire chanced a similar look around, “thank you for the support, I appreciate it Mary, but it's really best if you do not know much, for your own sake, and the plan's. But I will say that if everything goes as it should, it won't be much longer.”

“In that case, would you mind checking up on John before our ways part? He values your opinion, I can tell that much.”

“Of course,” Claire agreed for the sake of the young woman she had wronged in the past. Assuming her stitches would hold and not wanting to waste pain medication on an enemy, Claire had been avoiding Jack for the few days they'd been travelling, apart from a quick bandage change a couple of days back, “he will probably need to get his wound cleaned anyway,” she urged her horse forward, at a quicker pace than the animal would've liked, but it was only till she passed the caged cart where Jamie and Lord General George Murray was kept, the only high ranking enough Jacobite officers captured and not to be executed immediately. Claire gave a polite smile to some of the British soldiers she passed, seemingly all fed up and tired of the changeable Scottish weather, having been soaked by an unexpected showed for the third time that day. They responded with amicable nods however-a comely woman was always a welcome sight in long times spent in service. Fifteen of them in total to overpower, she counted again, just to be sure, although she had counted them before. 

Captain Yates was riding at the front with Jack and welcomed her with a similar smile, appreciative of her presence, “Madam, I find myself wishing for the time you were regaling us with your tales. Captain Randall here, as you know, is not the most amicable of companies. In fact, he hasn't uttered a word in several hours,” the older man looked over in his comrade's direction, expecting something of a reaction at least. 

“Are you well, Captain?” She pulled closer to Jack's horse.

“Claire?” He raised an unsteady gaze towards her, as if surprised by her appearance. 

“I was asking if you were well.” 

“It will have to do, won't it,” Jack grunted. 

“Don't mind his manner, Mrs. Beauchamp,” the generally jovial officer consoled, remembering the sharp-worded encounter between those two at Lord Thomas' dinner table, “Randall is not a ladies' man.”

“I know Captain Yates, do not worry about me, I can handle myself,” she gave him another disarming, though somewhat tight smile, hating the charade. 

“I don't doubt it. Lord Thomas himself admires your way of asserting yourself, but he did ask me personally to keep a lookout for you for he does not trust Captain Randall on his manners.” As he got no reaction from the other officer of the same rank yet again, he added consiprationally, “in truth I do think he isn't well,” he eyed the younger man from the corner of his eyes. 

From his non-reaction also and the stiff way he held himself, Claire was of a similar opinion, “shall we have a respite? I cannot really change his bandages as we ride so.”

“It's probably for the best.” Captain Yates put up a hand without any further question and shouted, “halt! Dismount and let the horses graze! Quartermaster! Noonday rations to be given out!” 

Jack's reaction, to stop and dismount himself, was slow and addled at best and his quiet and acquiescent manner gave Claire the chance to step to him and surprise him with putting a hand on his forehead before it could be refused. He grunted his displeasure, but did not hinder her from putting her hand under his lower arm to support him. “You should have said something,” she admonished, “I don't even understand how you're still conscious with that high of a fever,” the nurse helped a complacent Jack sit under the shade of a tree now that the sun was out from behind the clouds for a bit. Next, she swiftly fetched his blanket from where it was attached to the saddle and placed it behind him. “Mary, my treatment bag please,” she addressed the arriving baronet's daughter. 

Jack moaned and shivered as he was pushed down onto his back and struggled abruptly out Claire's grasp to throw up to the side, an exercise that was clearly paining and exhausting him intensely. Mary moved to his back to rub it, having no idea what else useful to do after passing on the bag. “Can you help him?” She based her hopes on Claire. 

“He's deteriorated a lot, I had no idea,” the nurse admitted. “Can you turn back?” She leaned closer to address the patient, “I need to have a look.”

Not wanting to be handled, Jack pushed back with a discontented grunt and was reduced to having to control his breathing as a result. His shirt was soaked through at his midsection, the colour of stale blood with a smell she did not like. With a sigh, she worked through the layers that covered his stomach, noting how hard it was for him not to complain, his teeth biting his lips fiercely. “Jack, breathe. Breathe through it, I'll be gentle,” she advised, driven by compassion before her mind truly registered who she was talking to. 

“How bad is it?” Mary worried, not quite wanting to look herself. 

“The cut is passably superficial, I am sure that if I clean it out again on the inside, it will most likely heal well.”

“Clean it on the inside, but how, what about the stitches?”

Claire probed the inflamed, hot skin round the edges of the wound, “I might have to pop a couple of those open and start over,” she looked around, unhappy with the surroundings, “but not here, somewhere where I can ensure it would be clean. We need to find somewhere to stay,” she stuck a new bandage on his belly and tucked it into his breeches, “we can't wait with the procedure very long. Mary, please tell Captain Yates I need a word. Jack, do you think you can manage some water?” She offered her flask.

The officer eyed the extended item as if it were offending him, “this should be very convenient for you,” he insinuated quietly once his wife left his side, without making any attempt to drink. 

“I don't know who you think I've become, but I assure you, I take no comfort in people's suffering, regardless of who they are.”

“Everybody has a bit of the old devil in him, Claire, you are wise enough not to think yourself exempt. A witch, no less,” he found his voice now that he didn't have to concentrate on the discomfort movement caused. 

“Just a couple of mouthfuls,” she persevered with reaching out to cradle his head enough to be able to drink, “the fever dictates it that you replenish some at least.”

“That's not what I meant, about it being convenient,” Jack completely ignored and unheeded her last sentence, “you say we need to find a place for me. Do you not think I know where we are? Do you think I'm too far gone for that?” He said quietly, barely above a whisper. 

Claire wasn't sure if it was because it was all he could manage, or because he was continuing to be careful to keep their secret despite the two of them being further away from everyone else. “The closest place here is Fort Tuarach,” he asserted, “and you are looking for an excuse, any excuse to alert the Frasers for a raid. I did not notice many of them on the battleground, I wonder why that may be. I find it unlikely that they would have deserted their cherished warchief without being ordered to do so, don't you? Strange, that.”

“Whether you were unwell, or not, I would have found a way to get away,” Claire admitted that having been the plan all along, “but surely, you could have chosen a different route from down Inverness?” She shared her hunch about his intentions as well, this being the first opportunity they have had to talk freely. 

Jack sighed and pushed his chin forward, finally accepting the water. It was only when Claire let him lie back that he spake, “how else was I going to keep my end of the deal. The rest is up to you,” he whispered, hearing someone approach. 

“Mrs. Randall says you're in a lot worse condition than you led us to believe,” Captain Yates accused the other, lowering himself to Jack's level however, seeing how the younger captain didn't seem able to rise. 

“I will continue as necessary,” the injured man claimed. 

“That would most likely kill you,” Claire held. 

“You need to be sensible,” Captain Yates advised his comrade, “nor Lord Thomas or no one else should blame you if you put your health first. I certainly wouldn't continue in your place. I will take over duties, there's no need for you to bear on.”

Jack blinked a few times, looking from one to the other, seemingly uncertain, then settled on, “thank you,” which Claire had to admit, was quite of an acting performance when she already knew what his intentions were, though he was aided by the vague expression the fever gave him. He did not want to deliver Jamie into certain death, that much she was sure of, no matter what it cost him.

“I will of course stay with him and Mary,” the nurse held, “make sure they are cared for.”

“Of course my dear, and I will of course leave three of the soldiers with you for protection, as well as many horses as you need. Unfortunately we will have to be on our way shortly. I'm sorry about that. I do not like to leave ladies in the middle of nowhereland, but for an officer, orders are orders,” he said apologetically. 

“Do not blame yourself, I fully understand,” Claire assured, “I and Mary have made it on our own before, and now we have John with us.”

“I wish you all well,” the older man included Jack in his glance around the people he was going to leave behind in what he called the wilderness. The other captain had never been amicable and had clearly looked down upon anyone with less experience than him in the Highlands, but Yates was a nice enough person not to wish ill will on a fellow officer. He however didn't look forward to explaining to Lord Thomas how they'd lost Mrs. Beauchamp again. “If you'll excuse me, I need to see to having the men ready.”

tbc


	5. Stale and Overpriced

Chapter 5: Stale and Overpriced 

Both Mary and Claire stayed an arm's length from Jack. He didn't look too steady in the saddle, and it also allowed for quiet conversation that the three soldiers they were hampered with could not hear. Claire's voice was heavy with apprehension when she addressed the younger woman, “I am very sorry Mary, I'm not sure what we could do. I cannot guarantee for John's life if we bring him into Lallybroch. If the clansmen arrived there in safety as they were supposed to do, there will be enough of them to take matters into their own hands. No member of the English army would be safe there, and your husband the very least. Even if it was my sister in law only, she would singlehandedly finish him. Three soldiers would not be enough to hinder that.”

Mary looked rather bewildered, “the Scottish. They truly are of such barbarous nature? I mean in Edinburgh, I did not experience that, I have very r-rarely received anything else than k-kindness if Alex was in need...” Her stammer made a reappearance. She had lost it perhaps mostly due to the boost of confidence being able to make her own decisions and carry them through, and being loved by a kind and protective man would have had some effect as well. But now, in periods of high tension, it seemed to have come out occasionally. 

“These are different times...” Claire attempted some kind of explanation instead of delving into the thick of it. It wasn't exactly the time and place for exploring Jack's darkness. 

“I have been to Broch Tuarach in the past on the king's busiess,” he intercepted gruffly as his own way of explanation, “I'm afraid personal history does not leave any room for benignity in this case,” he scowled, acknowledging.

Claire's frown also deepened. Mary's immunity, the one that had extended to her from Alex as those privileged Jack did not intend to harm, would that give him the right to hide the magnanimity of his darkness from the young woman forever? For now however, it was the best option for settling the matter. “Right. But I do need to treat that wound, straightaway and somewhere clean.”

“Is there anywhere else we can go?” Mary moved on as well. 

Claire shook her head, “there's nowhere else but with Frasers for many miles. For John's sake, it should not be delayed, and for Jamie's sakes also. I need to get to Lallybroch right now and organise a raiding party before Yates gets too far. I'm sorry, but I need to do this, Mary.”

“You're saying you're going to leave us? John, to his fate?” The newlywed eyed her husband, barely strong enough to intercept a sentence here or there. 

“It will only be away for a few hours. I will come back, I promise you.”

Mary looked uncertain, “you will come back, but we will still not be able to take John to the house. What happens then?”

Claire reached over to convey her affinity with a physical touch, laying a hand on her shoulder, “no matter what, I will come back. I will find a way. But I cannot be arriving with redcoats, not now. Trust me, Mary,” she offered the only encouragement she was able to for the moment. 

The younger woman shook her head in despair, “I promised Alex I would take care of John,” she set resolute eyes on her as if her gaze could hold her. 

“Claire's word is as good as set in stone,” Jack wheezed, fed up with the argument over himself while he was right there to hear it all. He wasn't some sort of weakling like the Brigadier General. It was hard to talk however through the chattering of his teeth and the murky glumness that gathered around him, toning out much of the outside world. Maybe if he lay down he could get some momentary respite from the unremitting belly cramps that sent shivers through his body. Leaning forward, the next moment he found both the women reaching for him, steadying him. He grunted, displeased by the additional restriction of his movements. As if ignoring the pain throbbing across his entire front wasn't bad enough. “Off,” he ended up having to explain himself. He made out that was intentional, he was meaning to dismount, what did they think, he was falling?

The horses bumped into each other in a tangled mess as a result. “He's going to pass out,” Mary panicked.

Jack grunted once more. It was to lessen the urge to slap her. Did they not understand he was simply stopping to demonstrate his accord with Claire's plans. Telling them that however seemed like too much of an effort, so he let himself being braced on the way down and supported over to lie by the roadside, but however gentle they handled him, meeting the ground hurt more than he'd anticipated and he was lost in the reverberations of his throbbing belly, screwing his eyes shut and breathing shakily.

“Should we start fashioning a stretcher?” The ensign accompanying them offered as the soldiers closed up too.

“No. I am going to get help,” Claire ascertained firmly, nodding the company back to give them privacy once more. The current situation presented her with the perfect opening she had been looking for. She placed a hand on Jack's forehead, “find some water,” she advised Mary, “bathe him with a cloth, try to bring his fever down. I will be back as soon as possible,” she renewed her promise. 

A firm, bony hand circled around her wrist as she attempted to rise. “The agreement,” Jack reminded enigmatically, boldly, yet not quite ready to bare it all in front of his young wife. His pained look softened somewhat to a slightly dreamy one. 

“You're in no position to make demands,” the nurse frowned, sickened. Seriously. Jack wasn't just evil, but sometimes very odd. 

“And yet, you will pander,” he held, “equal the deeds, an eye for an eye and exactly an eye, I dare you, I dare you both. If he wants me tortured, I am here.” 

“Jamie will not damn himself to hell as well just because you want to call your games justice,” Claire countered somewhat bewildered. She admonished herself at the same time. It shouldn't have surprised her that Jack would settle for masochism if sadism was not an option. 

“You will come back without your husband?” Mary half asked, half suggested, newly startled by the exchange. 

“I do not know,” the older woman held apologetically. There were many things she didn't know at the moment, bar for the fact that every minute counted. She had to get away. Jack was still Jack and had acted in Jamie's favour out of his own causes. It was only luck he had fallen ill and played into her hand more than intended. He was practically at her mercy and yet he didn't give in and Claire didn't expect him to. It was a situation she most wished to contemplate with Jamie, give him some say and hope that the Scotsman will be able to take Mary into consideration himself. She did not want to make the decision over Jack's fate alone, she didn't have the right to. The time traveller cast Mary one more guilty look and fled. 

Tbc


	6. Savoury and Sweet

Chapter 6: Savoury and Sweet

“Where is Jack?” It was the first thing Jamie asked Claire after the priority of kissing her as she steered her away from the scene of his kinsmen finishing off the last of the English squadron they surprised, coming out the woods before they could properly react. She of course knew it had to be, no witnesses could be left, but Jamie thought it best if she didn't have to see it all. 

“I had to leave him,” Claire gave the secretive answer. All of a sudden she wasn't sure she wanted Jamie to know where exactly. Did Jack still deserve being driven through with a sword? Probably. Only she didn't feel good about it, not anymore. 

“Where?” Jamie demanded. 

“What do you want with him?” Claire fished reservedly.

“Finish what I've started, that's what. Our duels, they always get interrupted!” He complained. 

“He'd probably fight you if you want, he always does,” the brunette allowed, “but if it's a fair engagement you want, that would have to wait. I doubt he could hold a sword for more than a moment.”

Jamie gave an uncertain grumble. The fire in him for revenge still burnt, but it was as if some sort of restraints were put on it, however high and menacing they were burning in the inside. “Aye, I've seen ye attend tae 'im,” he admitted. 

“He is very unwell,” Claire continued, finding herself jumping at the opportunity. She wasn't sure herself why she was defending Jack and delaying the inevitable, but it was happening anyway. 

“I may have killed him already after all,” Jamie contemplated blithely, “the injuries from Culloden, ye reckon he may die from them?”

“If the wound fever remains untreated, most likely..” It wasn't a pretty death either and a part of her soul writhed against it. She felt like she wasn't ready to let such a thing happen and a plan began to form in her mind-what if she sneaked out to help in the middle of the night?

“Where is he?” Jamie restarted his demands. “He can't be far,” the Scot assessed himself when he got no answer, “not far from Lallybroch for sure.” He quickly turned back to look at her from his musings, “everyone is here! There was no one left there apart from Jenny and the bairns! He could have used this chance to take them! We're going back to Lallybroch!” He shouted over to Ian, “leave the hiding of the bodies for later! A few redcoats were left with Claire in the valley before Broch Mordha!” He explained. 

Claire shook her head. No, could that be? If that was really the plan, there were only three soldiers, Jenny would have seen them coming and she was a good shot when she needed to be. And besides, “I don't think Jack would have been able to,” she contemplated. 

“Never underestimate that man!” Jamie warned, grabbing for one of the horses left riderless, “ye ride on your own, we're quicker like that?” He suggested, thrusting the reins towards her and moving to seize another mount.

Her mind was in a haze the whole way to the estate house. What if Jamie was right, that this was Jack's play? He wouldn't have cared about the soldiers, but he would have cared to force Jamie's hand somehow. Only she had seen his wound, and his fever was real too. Could he still carry on with his plan in that state, if the idea was indeed to gain control over some of her husband's kin as he did before? It was true that they couldn't trust Jack despite his previous help and she was cursing herself wondering if she had been played. The man after all, was well known for a penchant to play with his toys.

The courtyard was inconspicuous and quiet enough, though that didn't quite sit well. Wouldn't Jenny rush out to greet them if all was well? Claire threw herself off the horse in unison with Jamie, leaving Ian to catch up with them when he could, the two were already taking the steps. Jamie drew the pistol he had taken from Yates and burst the door in with his foot, expecting trouble. 

“We're in here, the sitting room,” Jenny's voice called out to them, “I need yer take on something here.” 

“Are ye good and sound?” Jamie still pushed Claire behind him as they rushed towards the area in question, gun raised to find the Murray holding a rifle to Mary's head. 

“You won't believe it. This one here,” Jenny started, looking somewhat gratified, “is asking for help. The nerve, the hauteur! Does she not ken we do no aid the English!”

“Damn it.” Jamie seemed more angry with the situation itself than Mary. “Has she come alone?” Jamie probed, “ye sure?”

“I had Aila and Deoirdh check,” Jenny mentioned two windowed farmer's wives living close by who gathered together at the house in times of danger.

“She is with me,” Claire stepped forward and nudged the gun a little, while nodding at her sister-in-law to suspend the stand-off. “Why did you come?” She had to shake her head at the young Randall woman, grabbing Mary's arms, “I told you it's not safe!” 

“I had to find you,” the baronet's daughter wheezed, having been holding her breath back in the tight situation earlier, and hugged her in relief. 

Claire looked around at everyone from the arriving Ian to Edme, a young girl no more than a child who occasionally helped Jenny in the kitchen. They all seemed ready to pounce, on both of them if necessary. “Let me talk to her,” she addressed Jamie, putting an arm round Mary's shoulders protectively and holding on for dear life, asking for at least some level of understanding for Mary's sake, sympathy that the Scot was ready to provide in the past. “Privately,” she nodded at the hostile gathering in indication of cause, hoping that while technically Jamie had signed over the deed of the land to his nephew, Jenny will still treat him as the laird and therefore accept his decision. 

“Alright,” Jamie ruled after a long moment, “but not without me,” he turned, letting them into the dining room without waiting for anyone else's reaction, the very least his feisty sister's. “Speak, lass.” It seemed that he did not have patience for much more behind closed doors. 

“You are f-free,” Mary started tentatively, “you h-have your chance at h-happiness...but I will never do. All I'm asking is f-for you to let Claire come with me, I don't think there's much t-time..is that so much to ask?” The young woman's stammering reappeared again due to fear, but she sounded defiant enough.

“What happened?” Claire intercepted, closing her eyes for a moment to digest the continuing naivety of the girl. But of course, what does she expect if they never tell the girl what happened in the past. She had no idea what she was asking. 

“I can't wake him,” the young woman pleaded, her wish to get the words out quickly reigning over her occasional stammer, “Johnny had some sort of fit after you left, being sick at the same time, and then he-he was out. I didn't know what else to do, it was only a few days ago we all watched his brother die, I can't do this Claire.”

“Mo Chreach!” Jamie burst out, “the lass! She wasnae meant tae be here, made witness!” He complained. 

Claire gave a shaky sigh she cut in half in her unease, “Mary, uh..I believe we need to have a talk.” Telling her what Jack did could not be held back any longer.

tbc

Glossary:

Mo Chreach – goddamn (lit. my ruin)


	7. Reduced on Sale

Chapter 7: Reduction On Sale

“Mary, please, you won't find your way in the darkness,” Claire pleaded with the newlywed, running down the stairs into the courtyard after her. 

“I need to get to him, before someone else does,” the young wife insisted, despite being told everything the time traveller knew of the Randall man, though not in excessive detail. 

Claire had to admire the determination, but shook her head, “you would only make it easier to track him, you would be followed.”

“I can't go because that would put him in danger, but I can't stay and wait till he dies!” Mary wrung her hands anxiously, to an extent Claire feared the girl might break her own fingers. Her dedication to keep her promise was remarkable, and to a lost cause as well. “What can I do, what can I do!” She wailed.

“I'm sorry...” Claire offered sympathetically, “I truly am. I never meant this to happen. I did not know John will be in such poor health and not be able to make his own choices when I got Jamie free, not be able to defend himself...” There was that word again, complicated. Mary had forgiven her for trying to change her destiny before, Mary was one of the kindest people she had ever met, which is why she would probably never understand that Jack was in essence, lost. “You were not supposed to come down here, you remember, I told you not to,” Claire defended her own position still. 

“The best ye can do is let destiny run its course, lass,” Jamie said, carefully inching out from the doorframe, not wanting to spook her, “now, I have spoken to my sister and she is under oath no tae harm ye. Ye are safe here till we can make arrangements tae get ye back tae yer kin Down South.”

Mary was breathing heavily by this time, fighting flooding emotions threatening to burst out, “no,” she established as firmly as she was able, “I want nothing from my husband's murderers.”

“I am still your friend,” Claire inched forward in a futile attempt to attract her attention. 

“Suit yerself then,” Jamie muttered as they watched Mary break into a sprint, towards the archway leading out the courtyard.

Claire's eyes threw daggers at him as she turned, “was that really necessary?”

“Ye ken as well as I do that it is the best it can be!” Jamie grumbled. 

“She will get herself killed if she stays with the soldiers,” Claire established, “the villagers will find them. I'm going after her.”

“Then ye equal her in foolishness! Whit makes ye believe she will accept yer help, Sassenach!”

“I am following her from afar, for now,” the brunette shared her plan, taking off towards their earlier abandoned horses, “well, aren't you coming?” She spat angrily. “Isn't that what you intended? Find Jack?” Claire deemed it best she was present when it was so.

Jamie narrowed eyes at her suspiciously, “Claire. Ye think I'm daft? I have waited lang enough, pleasing ye tae indulge in the fantasy of a man who will no be born for two centuries yet. The lineage is ensured, just like ye wanted and it is time to reap some well earned rewards and ah will no delay it any longer. Whitever ye're planning coming with me, trying tae convince me tae do, there's no swithering the noo, it has passed its fairness. You have promised me his life. Am ah right or am ah wrang?”

“You are really going to kill him right in front of Mary? She will hate you forever.” 

“Damn Mary Hawkins Randall! Damn all Randalls! Too much blether Sassenach. Time is of essence here, is it no?” He extended a hand towards her to help her up into the saddle in front of him.

Claire searched him contemplatively for a moment before accepting the gesture. It certainly had to be a positive finding that he didn't just take off on his own without her, and moreso that he didn't call for anyone else who would have been of a similar revengeful mindset in regards to Black Jack. She found hope in it as she settled against his broad, muscly chest. “What are you planning to do?” 

“Oh, wheesht, would ye leave a man to his thoughts for one moment!” He directed his horse towards the darkness Mary had disappeared into. 

His wife ate the rest of her words. It was best leaving it that way when Jamie was in this sort of mood. She had learnt to exercise some sort of control over her own outbursts since their wedding day. She would soon have to start with her reasoning again in regards to the redemptive acts Jack had engaged in lately, certainly before they were at their destination, but for the moment, she would have to let him cool down somewhat. The ride would give her time to settle on the best way to present her arguments...”Jamie! Jamie, no!” Suddenly she found herself flung to the ground, albeit her husband made sure she landed on the carpet of moss growing by the side of the stream, right as they were catching up to Mary travelling on foot. He had tricked her, left them nowhere near another horse, giving him clear advantage. 

Mary didn't seem to have much emotional strength left in her. Faced with the latest travail that destiny dealt her, she simply let herself fall on her knees in front of her, tears falling down her face in desperation. They would never get to Jack in time, what happened was entirely up to Jamie now. And on top of it, heavy rain had started to fall. “Oh god, have I been cursed?” Mary's eyes still shone with relative innocence after everything life has thrown at her. 

It made Claire's chest constrict with guilt. The only way she could right some wrongs they have committed against Mary was if Jack lived. He had to and she wasn't giving up just yet. “It won't take long, I'll get horses,” she glanced back towards the looming silhouette of the estate house, knowing there wasn't much else Mary could do but wait for her. 

Tbc


	8. Gustatory Perception

Chapter 8: Gustatory Perception

Having spent years away from the estate didn't lessen Jamie's knowledge of every nook and cranny of the lands, knowledge that thus allowed him to take the shortest route possible to whereabouts he anticipated Claire would have left Jack. It would have been somewhere in between where they've split up earlier that day and the path into the village coming from the North. Leaving the horse grazing by the turnip field, he ventured into the woods on his own, every tree greeting him with familiarity and a sense of belonging. There weren't many on this side of the forest he did not climb as a young boy, either as a challenge or to use as a vantage point while collecting quail eggs. 

Within the hour, he combed the area, aided by his knowledge of lookouts and hideouts. Paying particular attention to potential movement, smoke or campfire and expecting at least one of the three redcoats awake, standing sentinel, he almost missed it and virtually almost stepped on one of the bodies looking not very unlike tree roots in the darkness. He quickly slid down beside them, checking around, confirming his findings and awaiting a possible trap. Everything was quiet bar for the rain hitting leaves, nothing moved and one of the soldiers was decidedly missing a part of his head. The were all dead, he's confirmed that by touching them and a little further away, that had to be Jack. Weary and somewhat mazed, he remained partially hidden by shrubbery as he moved, edging closer. Dead or half dead, that man could never be trusted. 

“I knew you would come,” Jack's raspy, whispering voice greeted him from where he was lying on his back on the ground, sounding eerie in the stillness of the night, along with the barrel of his pistol, one that matched the flintlock from Yates that Jamie still carried.

“Did ye shoot yer own men?” The Scot noted that this time, Jack was not aiming for the time being, but let the gun tilt with its weight to the side till in touched dirt as if he would have found it difficult to keep it steady. 

“Could not risk you being shot when you came,” Jack countered. His precious once-possession. 

Jamie humphed at that. Still, there was no sentiment or thought to be wasted on redcoats so keeping his gun aimed unlike the other, he raised himself only to kick the pistol out Jack's hand in one swift motion. The Englishman barely reacted, confirming Jamie's suspicion that he either did not consider it a need to defend himself against Jamie or he was too unwell to do so. Either way, it was better to be safe than sorry. “You are a strange man, Black Jack Randall,” he surmised.

“And you are the most amazing one I have ever had the pleasure to meet,” the other countered on dreamy voice, expecting the end to be near, either by the Scot's immediate hand or the wound. He only wished he could see Jamie better past the haze of the fever.

“Aye, I'd expect ye'd think so,” Jamie admitted sardonically, looking down at him, “with yer special treatment an' all.” He knelt by him, assessing his countenance, “shouldn't you be dead? Many times over, from Wentworth, from France, from Culloden. Claire says you should be dead.”

“Her curse...” He startled, as if only just remembering it, “April the 16th, 1746,” he shook his head, “she must've denaturised that when we made our new arrangement.”

“What arrangement.” 

“That I would make sure that you are free.”

“In return for her help?” Jamie guessed, shaking his head in anticipation of what he feared he would end up doing. Because honour would not let him finish a helpless man. 

Jack grunted at that, sounding affirmative. Deceit was certainly not below him and he would enjoy the thrill of the game at the appropriate time, but it wasn't a form of recreation he favoured when it came to Jamie. The brave Scot deserved better, the truth at all times, even if it pertained details of his intentions with him, he had always kept to that. At this moment however, he wanted nothing more than his battered body to seize hurting at every shiver that ran through him and out of the merciless Scottish rain that wet the land every night. Whether it was by Jamie's blade to his heart that got him out of the situation or shelter above him, it was all the same to him, it had to end somehow, and it had to end now. So he decided he was mostly too tired for explanations. Yes, it was Claire's help that he bargained for, and that was true as well, specifying that the help was to mollify Jamie and not to attend wounds, that was beyond what his feverish brain could contemplate for now. He took a shaky breath, then closed his mouth quickly, his sense of dignity not quite allowing him to have Jamie witness his teeth chattering.

“Aireamh na h-Aoine ort!” The former laird cussed, “and damn me if I go back on my lady's word, dour it may be!” Misunderstanding the deal, he settled on patting his arch-enemy down, searching for further weapons and freeing him of his sword, as well as the dagger in his boot. In the inside pockets of his coat there was nothing bar some soaked papers and a medallion, or more like a locket. Jamie did not investigate, but put it back into the unresisting Englishman's pocket, making him gasp as his hand accidentally slid down the sick captain's front. 

“Jamie...” He breathed. It was almost like a plea, said with the reverence of a man who was passed the point where he could lose anything and so the red haired one disregarded the fact that Jack called him on a name he forbade him once, in return for something that was much more valuable for the older man. 

“Ye're freezing an' burning up at the same time,” the curly haired one observed. It had become clear during his checking the other over that Jack's hands and feet were near to icicles, while his upper body was radiating heat. “If ye had a kilt I could wrap ye into it all over, that's what they're for,” he commented as he placed a hand under Jack's neck and hauled him into a sitting position. 

There was no way the English captain could restrain the groan that escaped him as his stomach reacted to the sudden movement with mighty throbbing. “What are you doing!” He complained. 

“I'm going tae take ye get treated, an' cosset ye till ye're well. An' then we're going to finish that fight,” Jamie shed his own coat and wrapped it around the other best as it fit. 

“What is the point?” Jack whimpered. It hurt too much to be moved and he was now hauled upright, or as upright as he went. His knees were jelly and the smarting in his midsection made him pitch forward, his vision virtually useless for the swimming scenery. 

“I cannae take ye to the house,” Jamie explained. “Some of the tenants on the land will dae as told though, even if it involves an English bastart. They won't be couthie, but it will have tae dae. Where we're going, it isnae far,” he encouraged, guiding the other backwards from where he came. 

The older man tried to take a few deeper breaths to force his body to comply and maintain dignity, but it only hurt him more. Every step felt like a sword into his belly over and over that overwhelmed him with nausea and robbed him of his senses. One hand holding onto Jamie's across-the-shoulder-holster for dear life, he choked on vomit, the act of bringing up fluid making his belly cramp without even a moment's respite between steps he had before. 

“That bad?” Jamie noted, stopping, realising he could not go on more. “Can ye be any more dwaibly?” He complained, practically holding the man's weight entirely by himself and it was still no use, he had to ease Jack down, let him heave and catch his breath. Jamie looking around instead. He really would have not minded Claire and Mary turning up at this time. Randall was too ill for him to know what to do with him. “Are ye done? We need tae get ye tae my wife,” he encouraged. Jack seemed too gone for an answer, curling up, eyes closed, his breath shallow and sounding like moans. “Jack?” He tried once more before he decided on a course of action and stepped round, behind him to lift him up. It will have to be bridal style he carried him. 

Jack raised no objections and Jamie wondered if he was even aware. Moving him had not been a good idea but then again, what was he supposed to do. Jamie found him surprisingly light to carry, even if he was a dead weight, unresponsive bar for the occasional pained gasps when the Scotsman adjusted his position or made a more sudden move. At this rate, he might just arrive with a dead body in his arms. 

Tbc


	9. Bright and Light

Chapter 9: Bright and Light

Jack's first conscious thought was that it smelled like turpentine and alcohol and then came self-reflection regarding how strange that his first observation on waking would be that. His brain countered it with familiarity however. He remembered that Claire had used the combination to clean injuries before and then it all flooded back to him, her tending to him, Jamie carrying him in his arms through the woods. The warmth that engulfed him at the memory did not make sense. He had been in pain, as well as humiliated and yet being in the safety of the strong arms of the man he desired has proved to be one of his fondest recollections. Noble and steadfast in his principles as ever, Jamie did not disappoint. Which brought him to the question of what was going to happen next. He groaned, turning to take in his surroundings. 

“Try not to move too much,” Claire's clinical voice was accompanied with a hand on his shoulder, “I don't think the skin would take another round of stitches if you popped them again.”

“What happened?” Jack gasped, feeling his abdominals pull painfully indeed.

“You were out for two days. Fever too high,” she informed him.

His forehead creased as his eyes searched the small, dirt smelling room with a low ceiling. “Where?”

“This is the house of a farmer called Duncan, he owes us a lot of money in rent and therefore obliged to do what he's asked,” Claire explained.

Jack's mind was elsewhere however. Apart from the bandages around his belly, he did feel rather unconstrained. Peering under the blaket, “I'm unclothed?” He'd always felt rather comfortable in his birthday suit, but the occasion was met with some confusion on his part. 

“As I said, you had a high fever. The best way to bring a fever down is putting the patient in cold water.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, “and who pray tell, would do the heavy lifting?”

Claire eyed him admonishingly, “I see you're well now, getting ideas.”

“It's a simple question, Mistress Fraser. Would your honourable husband expect his tenant to attend to his prisoner's every need, or would he do it himself?”

“You're not a prisoner, Captain.”

“Then what am I, Mrs. Fraser?”

“You are what you merit at any point. For now, you are Mary's husband, a man who swore to his dying brother that he will do his memory justice. This is your chance to do so.”

“To you, perhaps, if you have decided so. But I doubt your husband would be of the same opinion.”

“Perhaps my husband is noble enough never to regret an act of humanity. I know that you know at least how to pretend doing the same, Johnny.” The name was used pejoratively, provokingly. 

It got him breathing a little faster, showing a reaction, “it's not who I am. I would have assumed you know by now that morality and good deeds give me no pleasure.”

“Is Johnny a different person then? Is it not you?” She didn't think he had multiple personalities, but she had to check. 

“Johnny was who my brother needed.”

“And there, proven you're capable of love, real love.”

“If you were planning to embarrass me, you're sure to have it,” he grimaced. 

“Let me inform you, that in the world of normalcy, there's nothing to be embarrassed of. Now tell me captain, when did you decide you harbour that real love for my Jamie. Was it before or after you let him challenge you to a duel. Jamie is an excellent swordsman, but at that point in time, he virtually had no manual dexterity to speak of. And I saw you fight. You let him win. Twice, if I'm not mistaken. I had been wrecking my brains about it and can come to no other explanation.”

“Is it that obvious?” Jack sounded crestfallen, but also appreciative of her mental abilities.

“No. Not to him, and not to me, not at first. There was a lot of unspeakable to balance out, it was hard to see past that, that was the obstacle, but I don't believe you would ever harm him, not now. You are only hindered by your intent not to openly show weakness. Especially not with Jamie.”

“And you're willing to bet his life on it? I've known you wiser, madam,” he challenged. 

“I am not. But you saved his life, more than once and even he knows that. I've spoken to him and he's willing to let you go, providing you will ensure not to cross our paths voluntarily. I'm to strengthen you up and send you on your way.”

“Love? I'm not sure where you see love. You forget about our arrangement, Madam Fraser. His life, for a little tenderness on his part.”

Claire sighed, utterly fed up with his games. “He had washed you down, bare as you were, I would think that's more than you could have hoped for.”

“I could sure count that if not for the fact that I have no awareness of that,” Jack complained, “I had always been under the impression that your given word is as good as mine.”

A pesky little smile played on Claire's lips, “what I can do for you is that I will find an excuse to send Jamie down and I will keep Mary out the way at the same time, she's making you some broth at the moment.” Claire made the promise in full awareness of the fact that Jack was in no power position of any shape or form. “The rest is up to you, let's see what you do with the chance,” she drew back, leaving him to his thoughts. 

Tbc


	10. Limited Edition

Chapter 10: One and Only

Jack grabbed for the bedstead, groaning with the dizziness that filled his head. Claire had of course been right, that vexatious witch, it was too early for him to attempt a walk outside and take care of his bodily needs all on his own and the short task had exhausted him to the point of a nauseous bout. And it's only been the last couple days he's managed to keep food down too and now it might all go to waste. He doubled up, expecting the bilious contents of his stomach to make an appearance at any moment. 

“Hohoh, rearwards, no frontwards!” Jamie's instruction was accompanied by strong arms around him that unceremoniously guided him to sit on the bed.

“Bucket..” Jack gasped, breathless and desperately trying not to be sick on the Scot's boots.

“You're all fushionless and shilpit. Our duel is a fair wee bit away then I take it,” Jamie commented on his weakness, placing the required item at the sick man's feet. 

“Thank you..” Jack swallowed convulsively, paling further in his attempt to remain somewhat in control of his own body. His gratitude was more than for the bucket, but of course he would never voice that.

“Aye, well, what tae do with ye cause here ye cannae remain. There's been word of Cumberland's men coming, knocking at every door, looking for Jacobite survivors. They cannae find ye here.”

“Because I know too much?” Despite his condition, Jack gave an amused smirk. Last the British army knew of him, he was transporting high ranking prisoners for trial, and now he was the sole survivor of his company, with the captives on the loose. Somehow that didn't look too favourable for him. “You were supposed to escape on your own, without casualties to be accounted for.”

“If that was the plan, then ye were supposed tae enable that tae happen.”

“Forgive me for lying unconscious with fever instead,” Jack sneered, “but as it stands, I don't see how I could come out of this as anything else than a Jacobite sympathiser.”

“Ye can tell them we didn't kill ye because we thought ye were already dead. That is, if I don't kill ye before that.”

“That's generous of you, Master Fraser. Still planning that duel?”

“You owe me that one, Jack Randall,” Jamie pulled himself to his full height to accentuate the validity of his statement. 

“What if I don't fight you?” Jack offered tiredly, fed up pretending he would harm the other that way. 

“What happened tae ye?” The Scot took a stance with a hand in his belt imposingly, demanding his anger to be helped to an outlet. 

The answer was a splash in the bucket, Jack finding it hard to get a breath in between the retching. “How am I going tae take yer joukerie arse and hash stravaiging with me now!” Jamie complained, “Claire said ye were getting better!”

“Take...me...where..” The sick soldier managed, holding onto his midsection as if that could have helped it from jumping about. 

“We need tae go into hiding, you and me,” Jamie disclosed, “for when the redcoats come round. Can't have ye providing any clues, ye ken.”

“Mm,” was all Jack could pull off for the time being, maybe just as well because otherwise he would have had to hide his joy over the fact that he was going to spend countless days with the Scot, alone and on his own volition. 

“Well, maybe no right now,” the red haired man gestured towards the bucket at the Englishman's feet. “I have lookouts, so we can perhaps hold off for a day or so. But when I come for ye, ye need tae be quick and cause no hassle without me needing tae poke ye with a gun. Understood?”

“Wouldn't it be easier just to kill me? If you don't like to attack a defenceless man, then hand me a gun and we can have it over in a minute.”

“Don't temp me,” Jamie warned. 

“What is it you want from me then? Because you want something is it not? Otherwise you would have found a way to kill me, honourably even.”

“Just wait ready for me and try no tae be so peelie-wally. I want nothing else from ye, Randall,” Jamie backpedalled towards the entrance.

“I doubt it,” Jack muttered to the closing door.

Tbc


	11. Green and Light

Chapter 11: Green and Light

It wasn't exactly how Jack had imagined it. Jamie was at the forefront of his dreams ever since he laid eyes on the young Scot years ago and the phenomenon only accentuated every time they met. Neither the murky smell of dirt and swamps, or the current bone chilling cold radiating from the solid rock of the cave have been featuring in his dreams and Jack had no active role in what was happening, but he would take the reality over his fevered imagination on any day. Because Jamie was there with him and willingly or not willingly, still took the fallout from the aggravation of Jack's condition due to the trek they have taken into the forest to the small, but habitable cave no one would notice unless they knew it was there. Of course out the pure necessity of nobody else being around, but it was Jamie who bundled him in animal hides, it was him who raised his head to the flask to drink, spread Claire's medicated ointment on his belly and pulled him away from his puddle of vomit. He maybe have missed some of it for being too out of it, but he also gathered enough of it to count. Till he was roughly grabbed under the armpits, slid over to the cave's wall to sit leaned against it and the container with the ointment shoved into his hands.

“You like this don't ye.” Jamie distanced himself, rubbing the remains of the unction off his hands into his kilt. 

Jack's momentary discombobulation over the change gave him pause, but soon self awareness told him that a contented little smirk was playing on his lips, which must've given him away. “Claire improved on her pain relief medicine,” he observed as an excuse for the gleeful expression, which was pretty much true. If he wasn't so lulled into bliss, he wouldn't have given himself away. “At any case, I'm impressed with the care,” he teased, calling them out on their humanity. 

“Ye have yer faculties back I see, handle the smeddum yerself from noo on,” Jamie pretended to ignore him, getting over to his sack for a little taste of heat, the whiskey flask. 

The Englishman had no interest in such a thing. Without those scarred hands touching him, waking up tactile sensations no other could generate in him, he needed no ointment on his wound. “I can never have my faculties back, you made sure of that.”

Jamie's eyes did involuntarily go to the other's crotch. He had hoped and assumed so, but was never sure. “That's something,” he settled on. If he wasn't going to kill Jack.

“We're equals,” the older man offered, “what I took from you, was just as important.”

“Well, I got it back.”

“Did you now? Did you really? You never think of me? In those moments, lost in your beloved's flesh, reminded by a touch? The scars, don't they convey a different sensation every time? I am with you and I will always be. We're equals, James Alexander Fraser.”

“You're ill. We shall settle the score after,” Jamie shoved the issue aside.

“Won't you be honest with yourself? Is it killing me you really want? Because if so, you could have done it a dozen times over. And yet I am here. An eye for an eye, that is what you want.”

“Don't feign tae ken an honourable man's soul, Randall, ye have none.”

“That may be so, an honourable soul may have nothing to do with it. But I know my handywork, Sir, and I can feel it. There's a beast in there I have created, a creature that is calling out for me, for challenge. A savage that could hold most honourable souls at ransom if the occasion calls for it. The darkness, I invite you, embrace it.”

Jamie ran a hand through his hair, feeling like pulling it out from the roots. “I am not like ye,” he rounded up on him, “boil yer heed, I take no pleasure from torturing others.”

“Torture? Is that what you call it, what we shared?” Jack feigned hurt. “Honourable, worthy, morals, righteousness, they are all made up concepts that have nothing to do with the true essence of life. What we had was deeper, primal, carnal, instinctual, a connection set in ways that cannot be broken, not with you killing me. It will haunt you past my grave regardless. No, Fraser, the only way you can reset it is by changing it, its balance, and you know that well yourself. You have me here, I'm physically weak, there's no reason why you shouldn't take the opportunity. You know I would.”

There was disarray in Jamie eyes when he regarded the other, “you're suggesting I force myself...in ye. And ye think that will satisfy the anger I harbour against ye.” Jack struck right, that was discernible from the way the Scot said it, as if giving it a little chance to be contemplated. He did know of course, that their night together had changed him in a manner it wasn't reversible and wondered if his anger will ever go away. “It's not the same though is it, aren't ye a willing, volunteering participant? I didnae ken ye liked it that way, a woman's way,” he teased.

“I don't. Do I look like someone who would like that?”

“It's hard to say with ye, as ever,” Jamie raised quizzical eyebrows. For some reason, he was more calm about this whole subject than he should've been and he scolded himself mentally for it, “well, if ye haven't noticed, I haud all the weapons here and ye can scarcely move. Ye will need to ask another if ye'd wish tae fornicate.”

Jack tilted his head in an acknowledging manner, “your loss James Fraser. For one day, you will need to find me, be it any corner of the earth, and do just what I suggested.”

“Eh, enough blether. Or ye might find yerself with a skelf and I'll gag ye, cause I don't mind if ye do.”

“If that is how you fancy,” Jack misinterpreted intentionally, “though the noises made during such an act are always half the pleasure.”

“Shut yer geggie, I'm going hunting,” Jamie collected his bow and arrow so he could stop the conversation, “someone still needs to feed ye”. He would go as far as the village, ask around about the redcoats' movements, see if anything has changed. Now that Jack was better again, it would be hard to share close quarters with him for any longer. 

Tbc


	12. Tasting and Sampling

Chapter 12: Tasting and Sampling

Again, Jack would attribute it to Claire's analgetic concoction that he didn't wake sooner. And if he was at the subject, then he should maybe contemplate if it wasn't an entirely intentional aim of the witch to keep him sedated, unaware and compliant and thus he should stop taking any medicinal mixes from her. Right now however he should focus on his breeches given how they were being pulled off of him from the back as he lay on his side in the darkness of the cave, laid bare a wholly different place than when Jamie regularly lifted his shirt at his front to change bandages. Having positioned himself close to the wall to shield himself from too much draft, there wasn't a lot of space behind him, but it was there where Jamie had squeezed himself into, the play of his muscles flexing against Jack's back, curly hair tickling his neck as the other man moved rhythmically, presumably to get himself hard. Jack contemplated offering his help, but feared it might be counterproductive. Jamie would probably seize his actions if he knew he was being observed and had to admit that Jack had been right and it was this form of retribution that would satisfy his need for revenge. 

So Jack just lay, pliant and nonresistant, boundlessly more willing than the Scot could ever imagine, while the anticipation almost gave him away, making his breaths halting and shaky. He could not see it this time, but the memory of the sight of Jamie's cock, so close, possibly straining for attention made him swallow. He wasn't doing a good job of keeping quiet. 

Jamie stilled for one moment, then driven by his anger with himself for resorting to the deed as much as by his anger with him, he thrust forward and rammed his shaft between the two moons of Jack's butt, still hoping to surprise the Englishman somewhat. His cock slid forward, past the tight opening, the tip slamming into Jack's balls from the back. The sensation was both to their pleasures and the surprised outcry that left the older man's lips was of enrapture, rather than dread. Jamie however, would not let him enjoy the moment. Intent on inflicting some sort of pain, he pulled the man's buttocks open and proceeded to try to insert himself where he had previously slipped past. 

As much as Jack relished pain with sexual connotations, he knew the way Jamie went about it wasn't going to work to either of their advantages. “James, James, have you learnt nothing? Willing participant or not, the rear end is not going to stretch on its own.”

“Stretch it then,” Jamie dictated, “be a good mannie.”

“Myself?” Jack had to reiterate as the request was so unusual. 

“Aye, well, I aint making it any easier for ye,” the Scot held, pulling a bit back, “an' with haste.”

Jack understood it completely. It was now or never. Any delay could mean an abandonment of the plan. Jamie could come to his senses and change his mind. The army captain licked two of his fingers and put them behind himself. It shouldn't be any harder than getting someone else ready, perhaps easier as his own nerve endings could guide him. Time was of the essence here so he pushed through the pain, hardly sure he didn't make himself bleed. He pushed and rubbed in circles, withdrew and repeated it deeper, again and again and again, quickly. And perhaps that was enough, “now, there it is,” he encouraged. 

While Jamie did not hesitate, penetration was not possible and this time, it had nothing to do with Jack. The member pushing to his opening was warm and pulsing, but not erect enough to impale him. “Thalla gu Taigh na Galla,” Jamie swore, giving up, “away an boil yer heed!” He spat angrily, discomfited he got himself in a situation where he had resorted to such lowly tactics. The Scot moved to scoot out from his cramped position and perhaps have a wank to himself in the darkness of the forest, but Jack was already working on the problem. His hand still behind him, the Englishman grabbed for Jamie's cock and wrapped his fingers around it instinctively, then pulling at the foreskin surprisingly gently, he freed the tip to be teased and coated with the saliva on his fingertips before he placed it between his two buttcheeks again and began to rock his hips back and forth, imitating the act of lovemaking while keeping his fingers at the underside of the other's penis, massaging and rubbing at seemingly arbitrary speeds, an assault on the senses, maddening in effect that woke the beast. 

Startled by the sensation, Jamie found that it was hard to argue with that hand on his manhood, which of course wasn't a new finding, but too overwhelming of a sensation for the notion to bother him too much at this point in time. Jack was working his magic, already guiding him inside, stretching with each hip movement, making him welcome. He wriggled and repositioned himself, giving Jamie more space, more legroom to bounce, every squirm eliciting a squeezing sensation on his over-sensitised, pulsing cock. It urged him to slam harder, take over, thrust faster, forget who was under him and get lost in the sensation, while at the same time, grabbing the other's torso, pulling him against his body, taking Jack as his, fingers digging in sharply. Intoxicated, his sense of hearing seeming distant and unimportant, he only vaguely registered the Englishman whimpering, full, attempts to speak turning into breathless gasps. He would not care for his possible complaints at any case. 

With that sprightliness, it did not take long for Jamie to finish. His swollen penis twitched, eliciting the most fevered noises from Jack. One more long, deepest thrust inside him and Jamie chocked on air and the flood of sensations, delighting Jack with that noise he knew he made when he lost himself. Jamie cummed, arching back, pulling the other with him before he let both of them land on the rough surface only covered with a couple of blankets. The other's enjoyment he did not care for, it wasn't the point. 

The hard landing facilitated his post-orgasmic haze to pass quickly and Jamie jerked out with the realisation that he had surprised himself and indeed went through with the despicable plan of topping Jack and marking him as his territory, his toy, in what he perceived was a bestial manner. Momently, he was confused by what it meant as opposed to what it was supposed to mean. He knew in advance the army captain would not object too much and surrender. It's not as if Jack could use his own penis anymore, thanks to him. There was only one way left for him to enjoy a fuck. So it could never be about overpowering Jack, forcing him to do something he didn't want to. Was it meant to be about him trying to prove to himself he would not, could not enjoy it this time? Because with that, he had failed spectacularly. It had escalated quick. In conclusion, he would have to do with the knowledge of having hurt the man, at least a little. 

He felt the other shiver against him, bringing his attention back to the present. “We should go doon the stream, get the mank cleaned up before Jenny sends someone up with the breakfast crowdie,” Jamie concluded. As far as he was concerned, they were finished, possibly for good. 

“I can't...I think...I think we may have ripped some of my stitches,” Jack talked as if trying to hold his breath from moving his chest too much. It was a familiar sound throughout his illness. 

“No agin,” Jamie scolded as if it was the other man's fault. Then a direful idea occurred to him, “we got into a fight, ye understand, that's how ye ripped yer stitches. Claire will be displeased as it is with that. Nobody can know what happened between us! Do we have an understanding?”

“Am I known to make deals I don't benefit from?”

Jamie grunted, half regretting his previous, heated actions, “peradventure I should remind ye that I could still kill ye for past deeds.”

“But you won't. Not after knowing you could be with me the beast you could be with no one else. Your biggest secret.”

“What is it ye want, ya bas. Wee bit of a chancer there,” Jamie warned.

“Nothing you wouldn't want yourself, my boy. Changing the arrangement. I was never to cross paths with you again, but would you say it could be to both our advantage in certain circumstances if we would?”

“Claire is no tae ken about this,”the Scot stressed as his only concern for now. 

“Why would I go against my possible future pleasures,” Jack concurred.

“Aye, aye,” Jamie agreed to the conditions on his way out. The quicker he could get himself out the situation and ignore it, the better, “I'll bring ye the water en.”

The End.


End file.
